A Day in the Life of a Quartermaster
by Rigel99
Summary: Tea, Terrorists and Tactical Intelligence. Just your typical day in the life of a Q. Part 4 of "To Be A Quartermaster."
1. Chapter 1

A hush descended across the Division, a wave that rolled across the branch silencing the shifting sands that flowed around Q busily but quietly getting on with their duties.

This could only mean one of three things:

There was a Double-O in the room, Q had momentarily lost his hearing or, their glorious leader was gracing Division with her presence. Out of the three scenarios, Q could only hope—.

"Good morning, Quartermaster." He closed his eyes and resisted taking a deep breath before turning around with a well-trained and respectful smile on his face. _Don't overdo it, Q. She may look like your favourite granny but the woman is a mongoose._

"Ma'am. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

She gave him a tight-lipped smile. _Uh-oh._

"Just passing through, Q." The likelihood of M passing through anything without good cause was akin to the Pontiff taking a pitstop in a brothel.

"Always a pleasure to see you," he said, with the practised sincerity of a devoted MI employee.

Villiers was hovering behind her, giving nothing away. Q resisted the urge to look directly at him, maintaining soft eye contact with his superior. He fleetingly wondered what it must be like to be at the beck-and-call of the most powerful woman in MI6. Probably as much fun as being in a car with Bond without a seatbelt, he imagined.

She stepped up beside him and absorbed the data flowing across his main screen. The woman missed nothing. Good job Q had nothing to hide. _No thanks to Bond,_ he thought to himself wryly.

"I understand 004 is in Budapest and 007 is meeting with our Chinese contact in Paris." She trained her gaze levelly on him again. Impressive in itself, given she was a good twenty centimetres shorter than him. "Is that correct?"

 _She knew full bloody well it was correct._ "Yes, Ma'am." He looked back at the screen. "They are in silent mode at the moment but 007 should come online in three minutes, 004 in approximately ten. I'm currently monitoring both agents movements."

"I'm sure you are," she deadpanned, ice-pick blue gaze, boring into his own. To his credit, Q didn't flinch. Well, one didn't become the Quartermaster of MI6 without a little self-control and a bugger-ton of composure, did one?

She looked over her shoulder, Villiers shadow-like response to move to one side smooth as a cat. "R," she barked.

The girl glided forward and was next to her before Q barely had time to blink. _Good girl._

If M was here to seek out kinks in the armour of Q Division, he hoped she was going to be very gratified to find none.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Take the helm, will you? I need to have a word with Q."

"Of course, Ma'am."

As M turned away, Q fell into step beside her. "As you can imagine, Q, I had to dance a merry dance for my superiors over Bond's little adventure in Tel Aviv." She turned to him then. "Ably assisted by you, I might add."

"I felt a rogue agent under supervision was marginally less of a threat to MI6 than left to his own devices, Ma'am."

She stopped then and turned to face him an appraising but otherwise unreadable look on her face. "Don't think for one second I condone such a rampant and wholly unacceptable breach in the chain of command and use of intelligence resources, Q."

"Not for one fraction of said second. Ma'am," he replied without hesitation.

"Quite." She strolled away, Villiers scurrying after her. "Keep up the good work," she said sharply.

Q took a breath. "Ma'am." Turning on his heel he moved with confident precision back to his post. "Than you, R," he said with a smile, "you can stand down," he nodded to her as he picked up the headset.

Bond's voice arrived smooth and clear in his ear. _"Good morning, Q. Sleep well I trust?"_

"Like a top, 007. Ready and raring to go. Shall we dance?"

 _"Only if I can lead,"_ he said, amusement in his voice.

"Don't you always…"

* * *

Q watched the video stream as Bond watched.

He supposed he could see the attraction. He wasn't averse to curves. He was quite good at geometry at school. Elements of mathematics in nature, fractals and golden ratios fascinated him. The female gluteus maximus could be said to possess certain such qualities.

"Enjoying the view, 007?"

 _"Paris in Springtime does hold a certain attraction, Q,"_ he replied, raising his coffee cup to his lips. " _Though I'm certain I'd enjoy it more had I some intelligent company."_

Q made to ignore the gentle flirting. "Well, from the looks of where I'm sitting, there is little more satisfying to the appetite of a Double-O than coffee and croissants in a Parisian cafe. Should keep the spring in your step," he said. "Amongst other things," he mumbled across the rim of his teacup.

The soft, warm chuckle on the other end of the line made him smile, as Bond pressed his growing advantage. _"I'm looking forward to… taking YOU here and putting a spring in your step."_

Q glanced over his shoulder, the minions busy fulfilling the requests of their department head. "The only thing you could ever entice me to be involved in that involved flying would be fishing," he stated low but decisively.

 _"Here I am surrounded by beauty and class, and all I can think about are lines of encryption and colourful socks littering my bedroom floor…"_

Q was glad there was no one nearby to note the soft blush creeping across his throat. _Charming blighter._

He cleared his throat. "I haven't been anywhere near your residence, Bond, so the thought of my socks on your bedroom floor—"

 _"Is a travesty we must work together to correct upon my return from this exchange. Don't you agree, Q?"_

Thank the Lord this was an unmonitored conversation. "Focus, 007," he replied, as he tapped away on his keyboard, tracking 004 en route to her own rendezvous point.

" _You commended me on my ability to multitask only last night. You doubt my capacity in the field?"_

"Not for a moment, 007. But I doubt my own ability to maintain focus on the other situation of the other operative under my wing at the moment if you keep harping on about socks, bedroom floors and such like."

Bond stood as he clocked the contact approach. _Waterboarding would be less torturous than hearing you say words like that, Q. I'd advise you to brace yourself…"_


	2. Chapter 2

Q grabbed an Evening Standard from one of the stands in the tube station. It was quiet this time of morning, not long after midnight. Only government employees At Her Majesty's behest were foolish enough to be working so late.

He looked at the headline as he mounted the escalator to descend beneath London. He sighed. Bond just seemed to attract trouble. It was like it stalked him like a desperate, possessed lover, helpless for his attention and willing to tear the world apart in an effort to get it. The shooting in Paris had only been a few miles away. A pure coincidence, but in a world where terrorism appeared to be on the increase with every passing day, coincidences of that particular nature were wholly unwelcome. Any closer and Bond probably would have run into the thick of it, gun blazing, to save the day and cause yet another diplomatic mess for M to clean up.

He checked his timepiece. Less than four hours and Bond would be back in London. He would be angry and frustrated. A volcano poised to erupt, forever the coiled spring. Q had been on the receiving end of that version of Bond several times now, the version just off mission and desperate to wind down by whatever means necessary. He had also seen the other Bond, moody and dark, burying himself in a trench of anger, muddied up to his neck with the thought that he could have done more, yet knowing without doubt that more would never be enough.

As he boarded one of the last trains, he patted the pocket of his jacket running his fingers along the unfamiliar lines of the keys to Bond's house. It was still all so new and so unfamiliar. He never thought he would be happy in another relationship after Charles. They had been everything and more to each other. He guessed what he and Bond had wasn't love, it couldn't be. Q knew a large part of his heart had been occupied by Vesper and torn out with her betrayal and death. Q himself had only ever known the passion and love of one person. Bond went through relationships like a dog went through tennis balls. Q caught himself staring into the distance again and gave himself a mental shake. I really must save these little meanders for when I'm not wandering about in the depths of London, he thought to himself. Best not to be thinking how so many of Bond's relationships ended up in the obituary section while at the mercy of dark-drenched streets.

As he disembarked the train, he considered how lucky they were to have found each other. For however long, he'd take it. Both of them had loved and lost, they knew what to expect. It would not be easier but at least both men were walking towards each other eyes wide open. Whatever the consequences, even if it was nothing more than two people finding the solace and respite they needed from a world seemingly hell bent on its own self destruction, Arthur Clifton would take it. And gladly give it to James Bond in return.

By the time Q had reached Bond's home (for want of a better word) or perhaps better defined as his recuperation zone, he had contemplated enough their status of friends, lovers and colleagues. He smiled as he slipped the key into the lock. It had been a long time since he had warmed the bed of another, waiting and welcome for a body he hoped wanted to do nothing more than sink into the warmth he was offering and find the needed release from the demons that shadowed him through his daily life.

He grabbed a glass of water from Bond's rather lavish kitchen and headed in the direction he assumed was the bedroom. As he stripped to climb under the soft duvet he looked at his still-socked feet. He smiled, deciding to keep them on. If Bond wanted to litter his bedroom floor with his colourful foot apparel, the least he could do was afford him the privilege.

Sleep came. Q dreamed. So too did the agent on his flight home. Home to London. Home to bed. Home to his Quartermaster…


	3. Chapter 3

Q had always been an early riser. It wasn't unusual, being afflicted - or blessed as he was - with a mind such as his, hardwired in a manner befitting a nerd and a Quartermaster. Being awoken by gentle grunting in the washed-out half light of a breaking dawn, however, was unusual.

In his standard belly down position, he gently opened his eyes to gaze at the silhouette, outlined against the grey light of the large bedroom window. Bond was entirely focussed on his routine, so it was easy for Q's focus on him to go completely unnoticed as he engaged in repetition after repetition of pull-up alternated with push up. Bond was venting. In his own way. Physically exerting his body to exhaust his mind, expel whatever remaining adrenaline was in his overtaxed system, coming down from his Double-O status and searching for James the only way he knew how. In this instance, not because of the Paris meet which was a simple exchange of information, but undoubtedly because of the Paris shootings.

Twenty four people had lost their lives. Men, women, children. Innocents whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Universe playing its version of Russian Roulette - The Ruthless Edition.

"Apologies. I woke you," he said, between laboured breaths, not breaking his rhythm. Q obviously wasn't as deft at discreet surveillance as he thought.

Q pushed himself up. Normally some witty, cutting jibe would be poised on his lips, teasing out the banter between them until one or the other submitted. This situation required a different tactic. Q was rarely more grateful for his training in psychology as he was now, when it could be applied to his Double-O. Or any of the Double-Os for that matter. So he did the only thing he could do.

He stayed silent. And watched. And admired.

A memory surfaced.

 _"You can touch him, Arthur," Charles said, leaning close to his ear. "He's so beautiful," Arthur whispered, half to himself, tentatively reaching out to run his hands over the black shining coat. Only minutes before they had watched the Jaguar stalk around his pen restlessly, looking like the caged beast it was, instinct telling him something out of the ordinary was happening. Then he had been darted, ready to be transported to a protected park where he could roam relatively free. Arthur had gazed in fascination at the soft, smooth ripple of muscle beneath his coat, all that barely concealed power waiting to be released. As he ran his hands down along the side of the sleeping cat, he felt the humility of being afforded such a privilege swell in his chest. He looked up at Charles, who was smiling down at his crouched lover, caressing the genetic prelude to his favourite animal. The pre-domesticated feline that still lurked within the fluffy house cat. Arthur was in awe…_

Nor was this version of Arthur Clifton any less in awe now than he was then. Bond carried on for about another 15 seconds before he faltered, slowly becoming aware of the attention being lavished upon him. The distraction of a silent Quartermaster was not something to which he was accustomed. It was, in fact, a little unnerving. He stopped completely and returned the stare.

"Are you alright, Arthur?" James asked softly, unmoving. The look wasn't one he was entirely accustomed to either. It went far beyond desire and lust.

He still held his tongue but rose from the bed and approached James. He took a hand in his and placed a soft kiss on his shoulder, pulling the agent back towards the bed, turning them both as they moved towards it, and guiding him down onto his back. The closing of his eyes and the accompanying sigh as James allowed himself to be gently manhandled told Arthur all he needed to know. James arms came up to wrap around his waist and he buried a heavy head in the nape of Arthur's neck. The beast was placated, wrapped in firm arms, sedated by gentle hands soothing his mind and chasing away the sound of weapons and the cries of the dead.


	4. Chapter 4

"Damn and blast!"

James cracked open a pair of weary eyes to be treated to the sight of one Arthur Clifton with his backside in the air, hopping across his bedroom floor to reach his trousers and jumper while pulling on his socks. He stifled a laugh and a surge of affection at the display before him.

He raised his upper body to rest his head on a hand. "You know," he drawled sleepily, "I feel quite bad for the other Double-Os, missing out on the fringe benefits of an intimate relationship with Q Division."

After a month of getting to know James bloody Bond, Arthur has the luxury of choosing when and when not to rise to the teasing banter. "What makes you think they are missing out?" he said casually, struggling into his jumper. "I could be up to all manner of shenanigans while you are on missions that I am not required to oversee." He zipped up his corduroys and reached for his glasses. "The broom cupboard in the corridor just outside Division is quite roomy you know."

James rose from the bed and grabbed the cup of coffee on the nightstand Arthur had evidently left there for him. He was packing away his laptop bag with his back to James and checking his phone as he turned round, only to be snared firmly round the waist and pulled into the very naked form of the agent.

Arthur wrinkled his nose. "Quite fragrant this morning, aren't we, Commander Bond? I think perhaps a shower would do well to be top of your mission agenda for today."

James didn't relinquish his hold, leaning closer to Arthur. "Maybe I will. Or maybe I'll wait until you come back this evening for a thorough scrubbing down…"

Arthur dropped his phone and his bag while James welcomed himself home properly, having failed to do so earlier that morning. Arthur took control and reached round to Bond's back, dragging and pushing him towards the bed.

"Meanwhile, in the real world," he said, standing up and tucking his shirt back into his trousers, "some of us have a meeting with M that they will be late for if certain Double-Os don't behave themselves."

"You could blame me for your tardiness…"

"I could," he replied, stepping back to retrieve his phone and bag, slinging it over his shoulder, "if I wanted to be polishing bullets and oiling weapons for the next month."

James was smiling warmly as Arthur approached the bed again to stand in front of him. "You have 36 hours downtime, 007," he said, mock sternly. "I suggest you make the most of it."

"Whatever you say, Quartermaster." Bond pulled the duvet up to his waist and lay back against the pillows, fully aware of what he was doing. Arthur rolled his eyes tamping down the frustration, momentarily contemplating the repercussions of hacking into M's diary and rearranging her schedule… He turned away with a nod. "Excellent."

Bond broached the subject. "Do you have plans for this evening? That don't involve trying to take over the world, Q?"

He turned in the doorway. "I am open to alternative suggestions," he said smoothly.

"Meet back here later? 8pm," James said casually as he trailed his gaze down Arthur's body and back up to meet his eyes. "And wear the suit," he concluded with a smile. Arthur didn't need to ask to which suit he was referring. He only owned two anyway. The man didn't take very long to return to form at all.

Arthur opened his mouth, but James was already ahead of him. "To expedite matters, yes, I am well aware that your animals will require a visit to make sure they haven't eaten each other's tails. Consider it done."

"Fine."

"Excellent. Give M a kiss from me."

"You really would love to see me get the boot, wouldn't you?"

James said it all with a beaming smile. _Sod._ He tapped his wrist. "Better get going, Q."

 _Damn and blast the man indeed,_ he thought as he made a beeline for the door.

James closed his eyes, recalling the dream he had briefly awoken from earlier. Normally, he was the one bestowing the protective embrace. It was quite a rare and only occasional feeling to be on the receiving end, he thought to himself, as he had inhaled the faint aroma of his Quartermaster, just underneath sensing the unmistakeable scent of GSR. Hopefully, that meant Q was spending more time on the firing range.

He rarely dreamed. Nightmares yes, but not dreams. He hoped it didn't mean what he thought it meant. Life was complicated enough.


	5. Chapter 5

A dull day culminating in a two hour long meeting with other department heads and looking over the shoulder of a Q minion as part of their ongoing training of overseeing missions, keeping agents on track and meeting mission objectives. At least he'd had some alone time with the Tel Aviv blueprints to drag him out of the mundane for a few hours. Q smiled as he strolled down the street towards Bond's residence. He might have to thank him again for that rather extravagant gesture of Q appreciation. It was always a pleasant surprise when an agent brought back more than a bag of salvaged metal bits. Occasionally, the minion who was tasked with the responsibility of sifting through the rubble spent an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out the relevance of some parts to the overall design, only for Q to discover that it wasn't a relevant part at all. The Double-Os in question, skilled in not divulging information, would never admit whether this was a deliberate prank or not. Still, a little more time familiarising himself with one Double-O in particular might yield some interesting insights into the thinking of said agents.

All's fair in love and war after all…

He slipped the key into the front door and paused, hearing the very distinct sound of an Aston Martin growling its way down the street. He turned towards the sound and watched as the silver beast pulled into a space on the opposite side of the street. The engine rumbled to silence and a tuxedo-clad agent stepped out of the driver's seat, holding a bottle of champagne and two flutes. He leaned against the side of the car and kept the sapphire-hued, penetrating glint on Q as he descended the steps to stand on the pavement opposite, arms folded.

"That looks familiar."

"You should know Q, you modified it."

"And who—"

Bond raised the hand holding the glasses to stifle the question. "I couldn't possibly betray the trust of the person who permitted this indulgence for her favourite Quartermaster." He moved towards Q. "I must say Q, you have won the hearts and minds of your staff in an inordinately brief amount of time. Heads of any department hardly get nominated for, never mind win, popularity contests amongst their staff."

He placed the glasses on the wall and popped open the champagne. He handed a glass to Q who took it tentatively. "How concerned should I be regarding what you may have planned this evening, James?"

James savoured the burst of bubbles coating his palate before answering. "Tell you what. If you pack away your concerns in the most impenetrable safe in your mind, just for tonight, I guarantee you won't regret placing your pleasure in my hands, Arthur."

He took both flutes and placed them on the wall. "Tonight, I am James Bond and you are Arthur Clifton and while I am calling in a few favours as 007 in an effort to impress you even more than I already have, all I want is to share an evening with a man of whom I have grown quite fond." He turned towards the car and opened the passenger door. "The fact that he is my Quartermaster is a bonus I never considered myself fortunate enough to enjoy but one I am certainly not going to squander by taking it for granted."

He swept his hand towards the car. "Shall we, Arthur?" Q shrugged in submission. _What the hell..._

As both men slipped into their seats and James ignited the engine, he turned to Arthur, a sparkle in his eyes that couldn't be interpreted in any other way than the promise of an interesting night ahead. "Have I told you how damnably devastating you look in that suit by the way?"

"You may have mentioned something like that. And as I incorrectly predicted, it wasn't even a close second to how good you look out of yours," Arthur deadpanned.

"You really are something special, Quartermaster," James laughed. "I certainly wasn't wrong about that either." The car rumbled down the street at a sensible speed. For a change. But then, Arthur had learned in these past weeks that James was capable of a high level of restraint when the mood took him and circumstances permitted.

"So. Where are we going?"

"That's not how surprises work, Arthur. Do you trust me?" he asked, as they meandered through Central London, the car drawing plenty of attention from the pedestrian masses.

"Absolutely not."

"Good," said James firmly. "Then you won't be disappointed…" It was then that Arthur noticed they were driving parallel to Hyde Park, and about twenty seconds after that, when they swung into the open area, he noticed a helicopter and her pilot.

 _Oh Good Lord…_ "I knew my instincts were bang on when they told me not to trust you, James."

James said nothing, getting out of the car. Strolling round to the passenger side, he opened the door and hauled Arthur out of his seat and into his arms. He didn't hesitate in placing a firm but gentle hand to the back of Arthur's head to bring their lips together, pouring confident dominance into the kiss. Arthur felt his trepidation dissolve and responded in kind.

"Your pleasure in my hands, Arthur." He grabbed his unresisting arm and they jogged towards the aircraft.

"Let's fly, Quartermaster."

* * *

For the next fifteen minutes, Q clung onto Bond's thigh with all the fervour of a drowning man clinging to a dwindling lifeline. If Bond was bothered by the steely fingers digging into his leg, he didn't mention it. In fact, between minutes, he would gently run his own fingers down Arthur's back, a soothing motion for which Q was more than appreciative. For his part, he tried to focus on the stars, the moon, the horizon, Bond. The calm exuded by James did indeed help his uneasiness.

"Surely you are at least grateful for the fact that I decided not to fly us there myself?" Bond shouted over the sound of the rotors. Q gave a brief smile. "I suppose I should be thankful for small mercies!"

Q could tell the direction they were taking was Northeast but it was only as the destination came into view, realisation dawned.

Bletchley Park.

The home of the codebreaker and the project that turned around the course of World War II. The brainchild developed and driven by Alan Turing. A man who despite his incredible work in Enigma only recently received the recognition he deserved, having suffered immeasurable injustices at the hands of an ignorant and unenlightened society because pre-1970s, homosexuality was an unacceptable "disease" and therefore subject to chemical castration.

Q felt the lump rise in his throat. He could barely swallow. His heart thumped so loud in his ears, he was sure it could be heard over the helicopter engine. He looked at Bond who was staring calmly ahead, focussed on and relishing the moment in the air, suspended between sky and ground. He tore away his gaze, unable to linger and Q quickly looked away, trying to catch his breath.

With the exception of Charles acceptance of his marriage proposal, this, THIS was the most incredible gesture he had ever received.

Every moment, every gesture, every look culminated into the now, converging like a supernova of the memories and experiences during the last four months. A singular, inescapable realisation that would not, could not be denied.

 _Fuck._

 _I hate you, Bond._

Arthur Clifton was in love.


	6. Chapter 6

_Arthur's mind was a haze._

 _"I know I don't have a frame of reference for what just happened, but please tell me you enjoyed that as much as I did?"_

 _Charles rolled onto his side and elbow with a serious look. "Frankly, Arthur, given that the first two times we went on a date and you shook my hand at the end of the evening, you have to ask?"_

 _Arthur laughed. "Third time's a charm I guess?"_

 _Charles leaned down to kiss him brief but soundly. "Beyond reasonable doubt."_

 _Arthur rolled his eyes. "Do you have to bring the law to bed as well?"_

 _Charles rose from his prone position as he spoke. "Someone's got to lay down some ground rules in this relationship, Arthur. And I imagine, you're going to be far more adept at bending them than adhering to them?"_

 _"Would you defend my honour in Her Majesty's Court of Law should I ever find myself in need of your services?" Arthur enquired innocently, watching him move around the room to gather his clothes._

 _Charles stopped and gave him an appraising look. "You, Arthur Clifton, are far too clever to find yourself on the wrong side of the law."_

 _"I'm not so sure. I feel there are a few pointers you could give me to help me in that regard," Arthur replied, eyes twinkling._

 _At that, Charles dropped his clothes and leapt onto the bed. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours…" he said, resuming his gentle assault across Arthur's chest. "We have all the time in the world, my little Bombe…"_

* * *

 **Earlier that day (pre-flight to Bletchley Park). Q's house. Cat feeding time.**

While he could be accused of a rather boisterous approach to field work that all too often drew unwanted attention, Bond did pride himself on his ability to be stealthy when the circumstances demanded subtlety.

The rules of stealth however, like most rules when it came to dealing with the feline form, did not apply.

James had barely pushed the door open a crack before hearing a furtive meow, immediately to be greeted by two sleek bodies sitting wide-eyed and patient on the other side of the entrance.

Bond suspected they had picked up a few surveillance tricks from their owner. Good thing they didn't have thumbs. Yet.

As he lowered himself to greet them in return, their interest in nothing but their stomachs came to the fore, leaping away from his extended hand and towards that sacred cat sanctum, the kitchen.

Bond could only chuckle. Look at what you've reduced me to, Q, he thought to himself. Licence to Kill, revoked. Licence to dish out the krill? At your service, Cat Gods.

Heads in bowls, their attention entirely devoted to their meal, Bond walked to the living room, merely out of the years of habit that came with checking your surroundings.

His eyes fell on the bookcase that dominated the room and he noticed the album was still there. It still itched a little that Q was somewhat reticent about sharing more detail about his past. But Bond could hardly be surprised, he himself being such a closed book. It was the nature of the job.

 _Fuck it._

He walked over to the bookcase and pulled out the album. He hadn't even gotten as far as opening it to see a sheet of folded paper flutter to the floor from between its pages. He bent to retrieve it and couldn't help but read the words.

 _"… We had so many plans, Charles, made so many promises to each other. I would have loved to have seen the world through your eyes; the places that inspired you and shaped the person with whom I fell so hopelessly in love. I wanted to take you to Bletchley Park though I know it would have bored you to tears! All that computer-speak and mathematical jargon. But to share these things with you would have done nothing less than enhance the colours of my world that you so completely occupy. But maybe now is not our time. Maybe on our next tour. Because there will be a next tour. I feel it as completely as I feel you in every moment I live…"_

James folded the letter and slipped it back between the covers. He didn't open the album, already feeling enough of an intruder into the mind of his Quartermaster. He heaved a breath. Well, the least I can do is use the knowledge for good, he thought to himself with a smile. He turned back towards the hallway, to be met by, sitting in the doorway of the living room, the lesser of two furry evils watching him. Bond fleetingly wondered if Q had installed cameras behind their eyes to record events in his absence. He hunkered down to meet the impassive gaze of this tiny nemesis and pointed the threatening finger of a secret agent under duress.

"One peep out of you, George, and you'll find yourself on display in Oxford Street's finest milliners," he whispered before bestowing a gentle rub behind the ears and a swift departure to begin making plans for the evening ahead.


	7. Chapter 7

"To think the state the world might be in today were it not for the genius of Turing." In terms of hero worship, Arthur Clifton's admiration of the Father of Modern Computing knew no bounds. Fortunately, James Bond had given up long ago on being the jealous type.

"You and I would be living on London streets. Destitute and homeless," replied James, not missing a beat.

Having been deposited in an open area close to Hut 6, and after a walk through the rooms that the reconstructed Bombe and the Enigma machine called home, they were making their way around the pond towards the Mansion House.

"How on Earth did you manage to swing this, James? I can barely get M to sign off on a new laptop without doing the gymnastic equivalent of the Cirque du Soleil."

The evening was cool so James pulled out a flask of Scotch from his inside jacket pocket and passed it to Q. "I know a lot of people in low places, Arthur, but quite a few who pack some punch. I rescued the Foreign Minister's teenage daughter from a tight spot at a diplomatic function several years back. Before you joined the SIS ranks."

"And don't tell me. He was eternally grateful for your part in keeping her honour intact. Or did you…?"

James gave a hum of disapproval as they entered the Mansion. "Please, Arthur. Give me some credit. At 15 years of age, even I possess some standards you know."

"Mmmm. I'll wager it didn't stop her saying she'd wait for you."

Bond smiled to himself but refrained from answering.

"Thought so," he said, sipping from the flask. "Having dragged me all the way here, James, I hope you're at least going to feed us. The sight of a reconstructed Bombe very much work's up an SIS employee's appetite."

"Of course, Arthur," he replied with mock hurt that Q would think so little of his ability to plan ahead. "I must say, seeing how much your version of a bomb differs from mine was quite enlightening."

"Well, the version on this hallowed ground cut a World War short by two - maybe four - years. Your version generally starts them."

They entered the cafeteria and James threw on the light switch. "Or stops them escalating into a world version?"

"I might concede that. To a point," nodded Arthur sombrely, looking around and catching sight of a picnic basket and two flasks. Q could only laugh in wonder and shook his head.

"Imagine had we met outside the SIS," he said, modestly basking at the turn of this evening's events.

They sat down opposite each other. "An unstoppable force and an immoveable object? It would have been complete chaos," said Bond.

"As opposed to the controlled mayhem it is now? Together, we'd be force to be reckoned with I'd like to think," said Q with a laugh that quickly sobered. James saw the same cloud that had descended on Arthur during their first dinner in The Shard return.

Bond moved quickly around the table towards Q, taking his face in his hands and kissing him without breaking the flow of his movement. "Not a day goes by that you don't think of him, does it?"

"Sorry…"

"I'm not looking for apologies, Arthur."

Q looked at him straight in the eye then. "What is it you are looking for exactly, James?"

"I could ask the same of you, Arthur," said James, releasing him, satisfied he had distracted him enough for now. "I'm a trained killer. Hardly stable partner material. I've wiped out men and women for no other reason than not playing by Queensbury Rules. Why do you want me?"

"I happen to have a soft spot for weapons as you well know." His nonchalant tone sounded a little too contrived to the well-trained senses of the agent. "Quite a large one actually. But more than that you are a puzzle. I also happen to like puzzles. Very much."

James followed Q's lead for the moment and maintained the light, non-committed exchange. "You know I took it upon myself to save you from the clutches of the other Double-Os. At least three of them had designs on you," he said with an accompanying look Arthur occasionally received from George and Charles on being spoiled with a bowl of cream… "And as a bonus Arthur, think of the service you are doing the world by affording me a space in your bed. All those broken hearts that would otherwise be scattered from Pole to Pole…," he deadpanned.

Arthur's laugh rang around the room. Of one thing he was certain, he would surely never tire of the company of one Commander James Herbert Bond.

* * *

"I need to get you home. Now," whispered James. He was sitting on the cafeteria table, Q standing pressed all too real between his thighs.

"What? No accommodation available at Bletchley?" Q husked in reply.

Tea, sandwiches and a shared flask of Scotch it appeared, were the ways to a Quartermaster's heart.

"Maybe if you could orchestrate a diplomatic incident in which I am required to save the Foreign Minister's daughter again, I might be able to swing that for next time," James chuckled. The touches were light, intense and maddening in the responses they were eliciting from Q's body.

James laughed softly against his cheek. "Really Arthur, had I known you were such a cheap date, I would have foregone dinner at The Shard for our first social experience."

"Admit it, James. You charged that to your expenses," Q whispered, allowing his hands free rein across James' chest.

James leaned back, his expression sober as he studied Q. It was getting easier day-by-day to read his agent, or maybe little by little, James was allowing the layers of experience known at the mercy of a scarring life to become more transparent to Arthur's eyes.

Arthur leaned in before James could put what he wanted to say into words. "Don't tell me," he murmured eyes closed, running cool, slender fingers through bristle-tipped blond. "Show me…"


	8. Chapter 8

_**EPILOGUE**_

James' entire attention was focussed on the nape of Arthur's neck, face buried in his hair, hands firmly latched onto his hips. Arthur rummaged distractedly in his pockets for his own key.

"Christ, James…," he fumbled, "If you could give me a moment…" He fell through the door and against the side of the wall in the hallway, firmly pinned by an unyielding agent, who was frankly going above and beyond the call of duty for Q and Country, himself having a rather difficult time catching his breath.

He braced himself and adopted his levelest Quartermaster tone. "Stand down, 007."

James stilled and leaned back to look at a physically dishevelled Quartermaster whose eyes, sparkling with arousal as they were, held a very convincing look of composure. Well, this is new…

James stepped back and continued to step back, shedding his tie, his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt as he went, never taking his eyes off Arthur. Q followed a few metres in his wake and stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching James' back ascend taking each step slowly one by one, unbuckling his belt as he climbed, before undoing his trousers. He paused at the top of the stairs to look down.

The test of each other's self control was the most delicious of experiences. James wondered if he was being subjected to a form of subversive field training that Q-Division were currently testing. Q, the epitome of calm and patience remained at the bottom of the stairs, hands in pockets, still fully clothed.

"Well?" he asked quietly, raising his eyebrows. "What are you waiting for, Bond?"

James turned away with a smile and entered his bedroom, discarding the rest of his clothes and lay down on the bed.

He didn't have to wait long.

Q appeared in the doorway, a slim and radiant silhouette, less than a minute later. James stayed still while Q moved to and stood at the bottom of the bed, studying him from head to toe and back up again, slowly and deliberately. As accustomed as he was to being admired physically, James was fairly certain he had never been subjected to such a thorough, lingering scrutiny.

It was, needless to say, having exactly the desired effect Q was going for.

Q removed his own clothes, in much the same way Bond imagined he would strip down the component parts of a weapon. He briefly wondered if he would be in for the same treatment. He climbed onto the bed to straddle the agent beneath. He looked momentarily sombre. "I never want to lie to you, James. About anything. But I fear the nature of our jobs will demand that that will happen in due course."

Bond knew this was a subject they would return to time and time again, but one that they would piece together over the course of that time. It would never be forced, never be cause for a rift between them. They both recognised in each other brothers in an unseen war not of their own making. Brothers who had a responsibility to care for each other's needs and watch each other's backs, because fuck it if life wasn't complicated enough already.

"The job comes first, Q. That is a given," he said, kissing the jaw that descended to meet Bond's lips, the heat and want dragging Arthur down. "I know Arthur Clifton would never lie with the intention of deliberately hurting anyone, and as Quartermaster I trust you completely."

"I hope I can live up to that trust."

Steel blue eyes, momentarily molten by affection, held the changing hue of Arthur's gaze. "You already do."

* * *

He crawled out of bed in the pre-dawn haze and headed for the bathroom, catching his reflection in the full length mirror on his way there. He paused. Scrawny, thought Arthur to himself.

"Compact," echoed a counter voice from the bed, as though Bond had been reading his mind.

Q scoffed in verbal retaliation. "Says the blur from the bed. Which is how you appear to me at the moment without my glasses, even if there was full light."

"Well that can only bode well for me. The vaseline effect I'm told takes years off a body."

"Funny, James," Arthur quipped back, sparing him a brief glance and a quirk of a smile in the reflection of the mirror as he carried on to fulfil his initial intent.

"So. Morocco…" A not-so-deft change of subject by Q.

"Morocco," James muffled response from the depths of his pillow. "How long did you say since Foley went dark?"

"Fourteen hours. Of course, M betrays no worry that he may have been compromised."

"The woman is a rock," said James.

"And you are a hard place," replied Q, heading back towards the bed.

"Must be cosy for you," said James with a smile, as Arthur climbed under cover, just as James climbed out.

"Quite," Arthur said curtly.

Bond threw on fresh clothes while Q silently looked on. God, this is nice, was his singularly contented thought. "See you in Division in a couple of hours for kitting out for Morocco then, 007?"

Bond turned and smiled. It was warm, genuine. In his own way, content. "Look forward to it, Quartermaster."

 **END**

 **The Quartermaster and his Agent will return**

 **in**

 _ **MORE THAN JUST A LETTER**_


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